To love till drawing blood
How to reciprocate
with the eager mosquito?

Sunflower seeds
Titmouse on the sill
Autumn morning

The green lizard
stares at me, sticking out its tongue,
then becomes grass again

A lone ideogram
of which I understand nothing
opens a secret Asia.

Infinitely beautiful
the slender grasses,
I laid my scythe.

You were just fifteen . . .
Oh! the taste that spring
Of the promising cherries!

What he remembers
Of his first time with a girl
La petite mord!

Ten crows outside
yet I have not burned
my old manuscripts

Steaming bowl of tea
I look and I sip —
Light flavour of time.

A hoopoe flies up
From below the bracken
A breath of fresh air

Dancing elbow to elbow
The hard disk
Of all that we are

Work on the page:
ink, white, erasures, copy, words.
Quick, quick, go and pee.

This rainbow
forgotten here
in the Autumn evening.

Under the blooming cherry tree
Even the maiden
Does not venture

sunday tube-station
flowers under plastic
and market products

They stand in my way
The lovers kissing
In the middle of the bridge

On the ground of the 
World Trade Centre, the shadows 
of nearby towers

Under a sky
too grey to see a heron fly past
winter stretches

rays of sunshine
held fast in a spider's web
end of the season

Medlars —
looks like frost
five syllables inside

undressed woman —
with a more tactful hand
a billsticker

How are the children?
He asks
Leaving the cemetery

Behind a fence
the garden on a leash
dreams of America

On the frozen ground
a hen hesitates before
putting down the other foot

Christmas night —
the wind waves a white bag
by the roadside

subway crowd —
on this navy blue coat
a grey hair

On the ice       Near
the farmed ones       Salmon
that have seen the world

Light on silver birch
Like a sparrow lost
In cuckoo flowers I cry

While washing the dishes
Suddenly I think of my wife,
Who is bra-less.

the air is full of gifts
will you turn into
the patient sample chart of the skies?

Lying eyes wide open
Back slightly sore
— What do the newspapers say?